twenty-four hours a day for four days and that's all we've come up with: skinny broads with short hair. I mean really short hair. My wife says it's the latest movie-star style.'
'Sounds more like Bones is having auditions,' Kelly muttered.
A sedan drove into the driveway and parked. Because of the hat, Carr could tell it was B. B. Martin.
Martin climbed out of the car. His sleeves were rolled up and though his trousers hung below his ample paunch, his gunbelt stretched neatly across his midsection. From the belt hung a patrolman's holster that held a six-inch revolver. He walked over to the table, thumbed his hat back on his head and sat down.
Jack Kelly opened another beer and handed it to Martin. Martin drank fully three-fourths of the bottle. He set the bottle on the table and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 'Something funny happened tonight,' he said.
'On his way to the Blue Peach, Bones stops off at a French restaurant on La Cienega. I set up down the street where I can keep an eye on the front door. He's in there about ten or fifteen minutes. Then he steps out the front door with another guy. I was too far away to tell who it was, so I do a drive-by. Bones and this other dude are standing on the sidewalk in front of the place. As I'm cruising past, the other cat is definitely giving me the eagle eye. I just keep my eyes on the road all the way up to Sunset. Then I turn off and circle back to the restaurant. When I got there, Bones was gone.'
'What did the man look like?' Carr asked.
'He looked like Travis Bailey, but I can't say for sure. I was too far away.' Martin finished the rest of his beer with one swig.
Kelly popped open another bottle and set it in front of him.
'I checked the parking lot,' Martin said as he fondled the fresh beer. 'Bailey's car wasn't there, but he had time to leave by the time I returned. So I went to a pay phone and dialed the restaurant. I asked the maître d' if Mr. Bailey was still there. He says, 'No, he just-' then catches hisself and says that there was no Mr. Bailey in tonight. It sounded fishy, so I head over to the valet parking lot at the place. I buzz the attendant and he tells me that he notes the license number of every car he parks on the valet parking ticket stub. I look through the evening's ticket stubs. The license number of Bailey's car was written on one of them.'
'It was him,' Carr said.
'I think he made me,' Martin said. 'He stared right at me as I went by.'
'Now what the hell are we going to do?' Higgins said.
Carr stood up, shoved his hands in his pockets. As the other men bantered, he strolled to the front of the house. Dusk was changing to dark; the streetlights came on. As he stood in front of the house, he again went over the facts in his mind. Gradually the plan took shape and he knew exactly what he was going to do.
Carr walked to the backyard and sat down again. He pulled a pen and some three-by-five cards from his shirt pocket, then wrote 'PRESS RELEASE' on one of the cards. After some scratch-outs, he completed the following paragraphs:
Federal Agents have been following leads in what is believed to be a foiled Mafia-style contract murder of a prominent Beverly Hills banking official. Preliminary investigation has shown that Jerome Hartmann, president of the Beverly Hills-based Bank of Commerce-Pacific was the proposed target of an organized crime hit man. A federal informant in Chicago has recently told federal authorities that the July sixth break-in at Hartmann's Beverly Hills residence may have been instigated by organized crime figures who stood to gain from eliminating Hartmann as a witness in a counterfeiting case in which Hartmann was a potential government witness. A shoot-out at Hartmann's residence resulted in the death of convicted burglar Leon Sheboygan and the wounding of U.S. Treasury Agent John Kelly.
Sources within the U.S. Treasury Department, which is investigating the case, have stated that a major organized crime figure in the Los Angeles area may be called before the federal grand jury in the near future. 'Progress has been made in narrowing down the motive for the attempt on Hartmann's life,' one veteran Treasury agent said. 'Since Mr. Sheboygan is deceased, it is doubtful whether we will ever know the complete story. This is not the first time that La Cosa Nostra has tried to thwart an ongoing investigation.'
Since it was dark, Carr read the press release out loud to the others.
'That should help Bailey sleep a little better,' Higgins said.
'He may not buy it,' Kelly said.
'Who'll cover for us on the Chicago angle?' B. B. Martin opened another bottle of beer.
'Bob Tomsic was just transferred there,' Carr said. 'He'll back up the informant story if it ever comes down to it.'
Martin nodded.
'And there should be no problem getting No Waves to issue the release,' Carr said, smirking.
'Problems?' Kelly said. 'He'll call a press conference at the drop of a hat.'
'What comes after the phony press release?' Higgins said.
Carr pulled his chair closer to the table. As he explained his plan, the others sat in silence. After he had finished his explanation, more beers were opened.
'It's complicated,' Higgins said.
'There's a lot of unknowns,' Martin said, drinking down another half bottle of beer.
Carr looked at Kelly.
'Lots of things can go wrong,' Kelly said. He bit his lip.
'If they do, we'll make repairs along the way,' Carr said. 'I say we're in a corner and there's no other way to fight our way out of it.'
Everyone nodded in agreement. After finishing their beers, Higgins and Martin left, and Kelly asked Carr to join him for a walk.
For the next hour or so, they strolled the darkened suburban streets. Children sped about on bicycles with reflectors. From some of the homes they walked past, they could hear television dialogue, commercials, Hollywood-style gunshots, screeching tires, shouted commands, music.
They talked about some of the cases they had worked on together earlier in their careers. Finally, as they turned a corner and headed back toward Kelly's house, they ran out of conversation. The two men continued up the street to Carr's sedan, which was parked in front of the house. He pulled car keys from his pocket.
'I really think I'm gonna do it,' Kelly said as he gazed in the direction of his home. 'I'm not one hundred percent positive, but I've been doing a lot of thinking since this thing happened and I'm thinking seriously about taking the disability retirement.'
Carr didn't respond. He unlocked the car and climbed into the driver's seat, started the engine.
'Well, why don't you say something?' Kelly said.
'If you want to get your charge by watching TV from now on, that's up to you, Jack,' Carr said.
'The whole job is nothing but a goddamn game.'
'True.'
'If you had a wife and kids, you'd think differently.'
'Maybe I would.' He winked at Kelly and drove off.
SIXTEEN
It took Charles Carr twenty minutes to reach Jerome Hartmann's home in Beverly Hills. He pulled into the circular driveway and parked near the front door. The lights were out in the house. Nevertheless, Carr got out and rang the doorbell. After a long wait, he heard footsteps inside. The peephole opened and closed. The outside light came on and the door lock was unfastened.
Jerome Hartmann opened the door. He was wearing a blue terry-cloth robe and leather slippers.
'Sorry to stop by so late,' Carr said. 'But I want to take you up on your offer to help.'
'Come in, Mr. Carr,' Hartmann said, stepping aside. He ran his hands through his hair.
'That's not necessary, this will only take a minute. I need the use of a furnished house in Beverly Hills for a few days. I'd like to have the house by tomorrow afternoon. Can you help me?'
Hartmann rubbed his chin. 'Greg Peckham and his family are in Cannes the next week or so. I'm sure if I
